


Where the Wild Ones Roam

by DesWasHere



Series: Where the Wild Ones Roam [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Badass Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, First Full Moon, Fix-It of Sorts, Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Good Parent Melissa McCall, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Multi, Painful transformations, Same with Derek, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Failwolf, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, he gets better though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesWasHere/pseuds/DesWasHere
Summary: Stiles was hunched over his steering wheel peering into the dark woods in front of him. His jeep trudged noisily down the dirt road leading into the preserve. He could vaguely see a clearing up ahead where Derek's black Camaro was parked. steering his jeep that way, Stiles tensed in anticipation as the car jerked forward that last inch.His eyes scanned the clearing, immediately focusing on the brawl taking place in the center. Derek's body was laying down bleeding. A sight that was now burned into his memory. The betas were fighting on the other side of the clearing. They moved with wild abandon getting overwhelmed by the gnarly creatures they’d come to battle.Stiles quickly scrambled out of his jeep, sprinting over to Derek's still body. Being human, there wasn’t much Stiles could normally do for the wolves. This, however, didn’t account for the fact that Stiles was impulsive as fuck."Don't kill me for this." he was so going to kill him for this. Making a fist, he punched the Alpha in his stupid face. Derek sprung up with a roar, his eyes glowed red as he turned his wild gaze onto the pale boy beside him. Stiles supposed there were worse ways to die than via werewolf.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Series: Where the Wild Ones Roam [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152242
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. An alarming close-call

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first rodeo. The plot of Teen Wolf will progress much slower. The lore will also change, I don't think a unibrow and sideburns do werewolves justice so I tweaked it. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to put an idea on paper. I tried my best but I'm more of a reader than a writer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets dragged out to the preserve.

Stiles' dream was simply perfect, it contained all the good things a dream should, Lydia and curly fries. What more could a sixteen-year-old want in life. He doubted anything could ruin the simple pleasure he was gifted with tonight.

That is until he felt someone's grubby hands attempting to shake him awake. Jokes on them. Stiles was a deep sleeper, so he just kept snoozing away.

Honestly, who was stupid enough to think he would bother ruining a perfectly good dream? Not that anybody knew what he was dreaming about, of course. That would be embarrassing.

After a few seconds of ignoring the frantic shaking being done to his very comfortable body. His brain decided it really did, in fact, want to start working. Stiles could vaguely feel something very important nudging at his sleep muddled consciousness. Then like Benjamin Franklin, and his genius lightning idea, it came to him.

His dad was supposed to be working that night.

“HolY ShIt.” Stiles threw out every limb attached to his handsome body to fend off his mysterious attacker. Lord on a cracker he was being robbed.

A sharp pain shot up his knee as it connected with someone's face. A pained yelp was let out disturbing the silence of the room.

Other than the shooting pain in his now numb leg, Stiles counted his clever attack maneuver as a stunning success. He opened his eyes to peer at the poor sap that dared to rob the sheriff’s house.

“What the hell Stiles?!” Scott hissed, his brown eyes watering. Stiles could make out the red mark on his forehead that was already starting to heal. Alright, note to self, his attack maneuver only worked on human faces. Not rude werewolves breaking into your house at four in the morning.

“You're the one in my goddamn room!” his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He whipped his head around to look at the alarm clock sitting on his nightstand.

“At four o’clock in the morning too, you asshole!” Scott looked down rubbing his forehead. Served the jerk right. Stiles was going to crave curly fries for a week after that dream. Scott had scared the shit out of him.

Stiles tried to calm down his racing heart, once calm, he glanced back over at Scott.

Scott was decked out in a black hoodie and dark jeans, typical crime-committing clothes. Stiles knew that look, he’d taught the bastard that look, the style should be called Stiles dirty crime wear at this point.

>“Absolutely not.” he was so not in the mood for debauchery this early in the morning.

Scott let out a pitiful groan, “Please?” he pouted. Fuck, Stiles was weak for the puppy-dog look.

“What’s the problem this time?” Stiles rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He was never going to get a good night's sleep. He never should’ve tainted poor innocent Scott like this.

A grin seemed to cross Scott's face for a second, but it disappeared soon after, turning into a stiff expression. Poor bastard was going to give himself wrinkles

“Derek said something’s at the edge of the territory killing hikers.” He grumbled, ”And apparently I have to help.” he gave a tight-lipped smile and Stiles felt annoyance flow through him.

It was obvious to Stiles that Scott didn’t want anything to do with lycanthropy. Ever since they were kids, he'd always liked to ignore his problems using Stiles as a shield. It pissed Stiles off, but he really couldn't complain, considering he did the same thing sometimes.

Stiles didn’t think there’d be any cool wolfie bonding with Derek, even if Scott desperately needed it. Instead, Stiles was stuck in the middle listening to them argue like a married couple whenever they were together.

“This involves me how?” Stiles generally wanted to know.

“I thought you might wanna come along,” Scott whined, shuffling around. Stiles debated strangling him.

Clearly, they needed to have a talk about appropriate times for adventure. Stiles huffed rolling his eyes, he got up slowly with a groan and stumbled to his closet. Strangulation would have to wait.

Digging through his closet, Stiles's eyes search for something that wouldn't make him look like a complete idiot. He settled on something similar to what Scott had on.

Finally ready, he grabbed onto Scott and dragged him downstairs. They both went through the front door and Stiles locked it with the rusty spare key. Choosing to ignore Scott's weak protests about being seen by the neighbors in the process.

“Yes, because someone’s going to peek out their window at four in the morning to look at the sheriff coming home.” Stiles really didn’t want to deal with Scotts whining today. Scott turned red going silent. 

“Didn't think of that,” he muttered back. Stiles nearly banged his head into the doorframe.

They both jogged the rest of the way to the parked Camaro. Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t winded from trying to keep up. His legs may be long but his stamina was short.

Before Stiles could Scott reached over and opened the Camaro door, so Stiles glanced inside from over his shoulder.

Erica was in the passenger's seat on the side of Derek texting, her long blonde hair down, and bright red lipstick smeared on her lips.

Issac was wrapped in a leather jacket sitting in the back seat, his expression told Stiles he’d rather sit with absolutely anyone else except them, which was definitely insulting. Stiles knew they weren't exactly the best people to hang out with, but they definitely weren't the worst.

Everyone in the car was rigid like a statue and restless energy sat thick around the betas. The threat on the territory was probably bothering them, some weird wolfie instinct if Stiles had to guess. He took a quick peek at the alpha in the driver's seat.

Derek's eyes were trained on the road almost like he was refusing to look at Scott and Stiles. Stiles could feel Scott tense up.

Something had obviously happened.

If Stiles had to listen to them argue the whole way there then those Hikers wouldn't be the only ones to die tonight.

“I'll go in the middle,” Scott muttered, his eyes were facing down and his mouth was set in a tense line. Once Scott got situated in the car, Stiles tripped into his own seat.

Ignoring Issac’s snort, he seatbelted himself into the smooth leather upholstery. He was used to the usual embarrassment that came along with being himself. He’d like to see them try to function with his weird-ass body.

They finally pull out into the street. Tall, dark trees seemed to tower over the car as they started driving smoothly rolling down the paved road. If only Roscoe was so smooth, he’d have a girlfriend by now. It only took a few minutes before the car started to get stifling.

Stiles could cut the tension with a nice warm butter knife. God he hated silence, his ADHD couldn’t take this torture for much longer.

“Where's Boyd.” Stiles queried, crossing his long legs. He couldn't stand silence. Instead of replying like a nice person, Issac sounded up from the side of Scott, completely ignoring his question like an ass.

“Why is he here again?” Issac’s rude comment seemed to cut straight through the car. Stiles could feel his temper flaring as humiliation reared its ugly head.

Scott growled in warning, vibrating Stiles' left side, but Stiles' brain was already working on the best defense it was capable of.

“Because I felt that getting dragged out of bed at four in the morning to help you assholes was a fantastic way to start my day.” he sent a half-hearted glare towards the curly-haired teen.

Stiles may be awkward as shit, but he’d always had a sharp tongue. It’d gotten him in more trouble than he’d ever really needed, but it was something at least. He jeered at Isaac in his head.

That's right bitch, I’m not a complete pushover.

Issac huffed, going back to looking out of the window all glum-like, but he seemed to get the hint. Everyone did eventually, that or they just gave up.

“Boyd’s scouting out the threat,” Erica drawled, not even looking up from her phone and ending the conversation.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get any social interactions from these plebeians he reached into his pocket jostling Scott and yanked out his phone. Now he had something to fiddle with at least. This way instead of bothering everyone the whole ride with his harmonic voice he could focus on the small device.

He checked the different trackers and bugs he’d secretly placed on squad cars around town until he felt Scott nudge him in the ribs. Wincing Stiles looked up, rubbing his now bruised side.

The car jolted, stopping suddenly. Derek had parked it right on the corner of the preserve trail. Stiles felt his blood pressure rise as he spotted the other car parked across from them.

“You stole my car?” Stiles fumed, he could see Scott's eyes turn a feral gold glaring at Derek, Derek's eyes glowed red in return.

Something was so going on.

Stiles honestly thought he’d lost his keys. He’d even made the appointment to have a new pair made yesterday. He'd been leaving his car at the school for the last week and walking every day with Scott for company. They must’ve snagged his keys from his bag when he wasn’t looking.

“What the hell?!” Stiles was totally ready to throw down until Derek turned around to look at him. His palms started sweating.

“I mean, come on dude, that's my car. You know like MY car, my car. She's my baby. You can’t just take her like that. What if she got hurt, Roscoe's old and sensitive...” he trailed off seeing Derek's eyebrows go further and further down. This was so fucking ridiculous. He didn’t sign up for this shit.

“Follow close behind.” Derek growled out, his face twisting, “In fact, wait until we send you a message to come at all, wait on the corner of the road.” He bared his teeth at Scott as if daring him to challenge the decision then nodded to the door telling Stiles to shoo.

Stiles didn't get out but opted to sit and stare at the older man instead. The car was stifling and tense. It was becoming clear to Stiles that Derek and Scott hadn’t talked about him coming along beforehand.

“The chances of you getting your ass kicked are better than normal. So sit and stay.” Derek grit out the last few words, his eyes bleeding an even darker red.

“Can you at least tell me what it is?” Stiles argued, he should get a medal after this. Friend of the year award. 

Derek looked about two seconds from throwing him out of the car, so Stiles took one for the team and stumbled out with his usual grace, hitting Scott on the head with a stray elbow.

He caught the keys thrown at him at the last second, looking back at the car. Derek gave him a sharp smile and started driving to who knows where. Taking a very pissed-off-looking Scott with him.

Stiles seriously contemplated driving home and leaving their furry asses to get murdered while he enjoyed his nice warm bed. The dark trees swayed ominously, and he shivered with the autumn chill. He could never leave Scott, sweet innocent Scott, to battle a random creature without him there to watch.

Werewolves were cool man.

Muttering to himself, Stiles started Roscoe. Its deep rumble echoed throughout the woods as he took off down the street trying to catch up with Derek's silent car. He was still pissed about his jeep and debated telling his dad about it, but that would probably be a bad idea.

After all, getting Derek arrested again wouldn’t exactly help their stellar relationship.


	2. Burgundy bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets to the preserve only to find a startling sight. Noah is sus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. I had to cut this chapters' outline in half because it was getting really long.

Stiles twisted the steering wheel, pulling to the corner of where Derek's car disappeared to. Easing the jeep into park, he waited for what seemed like an eternity. He fucking hated waiting.

His knee bounced, he turned on the radio before shutting it off again, and he fiddled with his headlights.

Before long, twenty torturous minutes had passed by, and Stiles had a really bad feeling in his gut. He should’ve been texted by now.

Stiles checked his phone again only to find nothing new. His knee started to bounce faster in frustration. Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea. He started driving down the rest of the way to the meeting point.

Stiles was hunched over his steering wheel peering into the dark woods in front of him. His jeep trudged noisily down the dirt road leading into the preserve. Roscoe pushed brambles and other forest crap out of her way like a pro, but Stiles prayed she wouldn’t break down. 

It occurred to him now that Derek probably didn’t want Stiles to come simply because Roscoe was a piece of shit. Not that Stiles would ever admit to that fact. 

He really hoped it wasn’t because Derek and Scott were having a fight about whatever.

He could vaguely see a clearing up ahead where Derek's black Camaro was parked. Turning his high beams on and steering the jeep that way, Stiles tensed in anticipation as the car jerked forward that last inch.

His eyes scanned the clearing, immediately focusing on the brawl taking place in the center. Derek's body was laying down in the dirt bleeding with Scott shaking beside him. A sight that was now burned into Stiles’s memory. The betas were fighting on the other side of the clearing. They moved with wild abandon getting overwhelmed by the gnarly creatures they’d come to battle.

When he got close enough to see the damage, Stiles felt his heart drop, his stomach twisting in fear. Three other creatures that looked ridiculously like mutilated, human-sized birds were over the hikers who were on the ground torn apart.

Stiles scrambled out of his jeep running to Scott. His best friend was on his knees, his head pressed against the soft leaf-covered ground as he held back whatever it was that happened to them when they shifted. His lithe frame shaking.

Stiles softly grabbed his shoulder, shaking it in an attempt to snap him out of whatever the hell he was in. It certainly didn’t look comfortable.

“Scott man, snap out of it. I really need your help dude.”

“Not right now Stiles.” He managed to grit out, groaning in pain.

“Yes right now, Scott, I'm human you idiot, they'll mutilate me!”

The yellow color disappeared out of Scott's eyes and his body stopped trembling so much. He looked like he’d be fine for now, but he was in no condition to help. 

Stiles reluctantly shuffled over to Derek glancing back at the fight to make sure he wasn’t seen by a creature. The betas movements seemed to be getting sluggish and weak.

They were all sporting bad-looking gashes that didn’t seem to be healing too nicely either, Boyd taking the lead.

Great, and by great, Stiles meant he was going to get fucken eaten.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. Time was running out and his brain didn’t like time constraints. Being human, there wasn’t much Stiles could do for the wolves. This, however, didn’t account for the fact that Stiles was impulsive as fuck.

Stiles shimmied closer to the Alpha.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott demanded, Stiles looked over to see him sitting up with a wince, his face pale and nervous. Stiles ignored him. He was in no condition to help.

"Don't kill me for this." Derek was so going to kill him for this, but Stiles was sufficiently panicked. Making a fist, he punched the Alpha in his stupid face.

Derek sprung up with a roar, his eyes glowing red as he turned his wild gaze onto the pale boy beside him.

Stiles supposed there were worse ways to die than being mauled by a supernatural creature.

Derek grabbed his shoulders, throwing Stiles’s back into the tree behind them. Stiles threw up his arm to block the hit that was surely coming, if he was lucky he’d get a broken arm and that's all. He wasn’t very lucky.

Derek bit down on the clothed wrist in front of his face, Scott's choked yell echoed across the clearing.

All three of them seem to freeze in horror. Derek seemed to snap out of it first. Slowly removing Stiles's arm from his mouth he pulled up the sleeve of the thick sweater looking mildly interested in the weird human for once.

There were holes in the sleeve, but the skin itself was only forming a bruise in the shape of Derek's mouth.

Derek hadn't broken skin.

Scott let out a noise that Stiles thought sounded like a dying seagull. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was on the verge of hysterics. Stiles exhaled a long shaky breath feeling light-headed and sending a short prayer to whoever it was in heaven that just saved his stupid ass.

Derek's face went through a variety of emotions before switching back to being indifferent. He had a gleam in his eyes that would’ve unnerved Stiles if he were paying attention. He bared his teeth.

“Don’t ever do that again.” He snarled at Stiles, stumbling as he got up and joined the fight again in an attempt to finish the bird-people off. The dude was still bleeding. Stiles felt a surge of red-hot anger course through him. Ungrateful prick.

“Your welcome for saving your life again asshat.” It wasn't as if Stiles had risked his life again to come help his pack. Absolute bullshit.

“Shut up Stiles!” Scott snarled out. Stiles jumped, whipping his head around to look at his best friend. He felt all the anger leak out of him when he looked at Scott, tonight had been rough. Scott was still pale and hunched in on himself, his eyes were pleading. 

Stiles needed to get them home.

“Alright, I… alright.” Stiles took a deep breath, he was still shaking from the adrenalin “Come on man. Let's go home.”

Scott got up slowly, nearly falling on his face before Stiles caught him. He let him lean on his shoulder as they both staggered to the jeep. Stiles put the key in the ignition letting the car start before backing out of the woods.

They drove away from the fight without looking back.

The other wolves looked like they had it covered now anyway with Derek helping again.

Scott leaned his head back against his seat, closing his eyes. Stiles felt himself finally relaxing with the lull of the road. He’d been driving since he was thirteen, it was practically muscle memory at this point.

The ride back was mostly silent until they got to the corner of the street that separated Stiles's house from Scotts. Scott opened his eyes a crack, glancing up to look at Stiles.

“Why did you do that?” Scott interrogated, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“What?”

“You threw up your hand in front of Derek, why?” Stiles stuttered trying to explain. Did Scott actually think he did it on purpose?

“I uh thought, “Stiles stumbled over his words, “I thought he was gonna hit me.”

“Wolves don’t hit Stiles.” he looked over at Stiles sternly.

Stiles pursed his lips. “I didn’t think of that.”

Scott rolled his eyes, letting out a resigned groan.

“It’s nice to know you have your usual attention to detail.” Stiles huffed but didn't reply. After a few minutes, Scott started talking again.

“Can I stay over at your house tonight?” Scott quietly asked.

“Sure.” His dad would have a fit when he realized Scott came over past curfew, but whatever.

The ride to Stiles’s house was silent, both teens pointedly ignoring Stiles favoring his left wrist. When the light blue house came into view, Scott reached over and unclicked his seatbelt as Stiles pulled into the driveway letting out a swear. The police cruiser was parked out in front. Stiles glanced down at the dim clock on his dashboard.

“Shit,” he grumbled

“I thought he didn't get home until six tonight?”

“It is six Scott.”

“Oh.”

Stiles’s head started pounding and Scott stayed silent on the side of him, Stiles would have to just deal with it.

“Come on, man,” he muttered, climbing out of Roscoe, his feet slapped against the pavement. He strode around to the trunk reaching in and grabbing his lacrosse bag. He unzipped it rifling through in search of a clean hoodie. Once he found a clean one he whipped it at Scott. It flew over smacking him directly in the face.

Once Scott managed to pull it over his head they quietly made their way to the door. Stiles silently unlocked it, tiptoeing in. Please don’t be at the table, please don’t be at the table…

The sheriff was at the table.

“Oh my god…” Scott paled, making a quick half-assed excuse and booking it out the door. Apparently, the prospect of Stiles getting bitten wasn't enough incentive to deal with Stiles's father.

Noah looked mildly amused at Scott's abandonment of his son but set his eyes on Stiles once more. Noah was leaning back in his chair, he was out of his police uniform. Which meant he’d been home for a while. Stiles was so grounded.

“So… you wanna tell me where you've been,” He raises a single eyebrow and Stiles has the weirdest sensation of sucking on a lemon.

“You know..” Stiles winced, “Around doin’ stuff…”

His dad rubbed his face in frustration, his shoulders tense.

“Do I even need to tell you why that's a bad excuse?” His hands flopped down to his side, he looked just as defeated as Stiles felt.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the sheriff slumped in on himself, surrendering to the fact that Stiles wasn’t going to say anything more.

“Station, every day after school this week.” Stiles wanted to argue before deflating. The station wasn’t too bad of a punishment.

“... alright.” Stiles felt guilty when he looked up to see his dad's slumped posture.

“Alright, station it is, see-” Before he could finish, Stiles threw his arms around him. God, Stiles hated lying. They used to be so close, now they barely seemed to spend time with each other. Stiles was stuck dealing with the supernatural and his dad had to deal with the aftermath.

He felt his dad's arms tighten around him squeezing softly. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Stiles finally pulled away, avoiding Noah's eyes. Stiles was almost bitten today, what a thought. He doubted his dad would take that news well if he knew.

“Go get some sleep kiddo.” His dad muttered softly, lightly pushing his son towards the door. Stiles walked away guiltier than he’d ever felt before, he could feel his dad's eyes burning into his back as he climbed up the stairs.

Stiles would tell him one day, but that day was not today. Until then, Noah would be left to his own devices to figure out what was happening to his son.

When Stiles finally fell into his soft bed which seemed to melt around him, his curly fry dream was long forgotten after the stressful events that had just unfolded, this time he fell asleep to an even better dream.

With flashes of the night sky and woods whizzing past the fur he didn’t yet possess.

\----------------------------

Noah shuffled uneasily watching his son’s back disappear up the stairs. He slowly walked back to the computer sitting on his table.

Noa knew his son, he’d raised him after all. All the lies and the tattle-tales, all the broken rules. The bugged police cars he still thought Noah didn’t know about.

But never anything to this extent. Oh no, something was going on in town, and his son was very much a part of it. He could lie to Noah's face all he wanted, but Noah knew.

Noah Stillinki knew his son.

He’d originally tried compiling a list, late nights past curfew, popping in on crime scenes, crap like that. Alright, Noah had thought before, maybe he’s just curious. Shit like this didn’t exactly happen to every town. Stiles had never been bothered with gore.

Then he’d started coming home with bruises. A gang maybe? Stiles would’ve told him. Stiles had never outright refused to tell Noah something until now. They used to tell each other everything. Now they were strangers living under the same roof.

Noah knew Stiles was involved, it was the fact that he was involved with murders that bothered him. He’d hoped Stiles had learned that he would go through anything for him. Noah had gray morals, nobody would survive being sheriff without pulling the trigger at one point.

He knew how to hide bodies, he knew how to slander evidence. He wouldn't normally betray the police station, but for his son, he would in a heartbeat.

Three crime scenes Stiles was spotted at, and it was a pattern now. But the evidence just didn’t make sense. Wolf's hairs? Mountain lions? Symbols? And now this.

He pressed play on the computer for the second time since Stile pulled up. Its screen displayed Scott and Stiles getting out of the jeep, Stiles threw a hoodie at Scott; who was covered in something that looked a lot like blood. The new hidden cameras he’d installed recorded quite a few things recently, and Noah couldn’t unsee them at this point.

Deputy Parrish could keep this under wraps if he needed to. He was the only one Noah considered telling so far, and Noah would like to keep it that way. Oh yes, Noah would figure this out on his own, and when he did his son was going to be grounded for the rest of his life.

But until then, Noah had a lot of case files and evidence to review, and possibly a new murder to find.

It looked like Noah wasn’t going to be getting any sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter comes out either next Tuesday or before then. Hope you enjoyed it.


	3. Dealing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicion everywhere, Stiles drives to school with Scott. Tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, a finished chapter.

A shrill ringing pierced into Stiles's sleepy brain jolting him awake, the sound echoed through his messy bedroom ruining his chances at going back to sleep.

He opened his eyes drowsily, feeling like absolute shit. He couldn't remember what the hell he’d dreamed of, but it’d left him feeling sluggish and detached as shit now. When he closed his eyes all he could remember were flashes of pine trees. 

Without getting up Stiles reached over and smacked his hand against his alarm, it just kept ringing.

Looking over with blurry eyes, Stiles could see his alarm clock looking back tauntingly on his end table, it kept ringing. He hated that damn thing so much.

He slapped his hand over the top of the stupid alarm harder this time, shutting it off once and for all. Silence blanketed the room once again. The small amount of light that escaped through his black curtains was enough to brighten up the area so he could see clearly.

His clothes from last night were thrown hazardously on his carpet floor. Clutter lined his desk that was shoved into a corner, and papers were scattered everywhere. Their topics an assortment of fantasy creatures and random factoids. Same as always, he really needed to clean his goddamn room one of these days.

Stiles pushed himself up into a sitting position, letting out a pained hiss when his left wrist started to throb angrily, sending jolts of pain down his arm. Taking his sleeve and pulling it back, he revealed an ugly-looking bruise to the world.

Shit.

Flopping down on his pillow he rubbed his face in frustration. He didn’t know how Derek didn’t break his skin. Stiles was a lucky bastard, that was for sure.

Getting up again, this time being careful with his wrist, he picked up the thick jacket he'd worn and, sure enough, there were holes in his sleeve.

Derek's teeth managed to get past everything except the fur lining on the inside. He felt his stomach turn at the thought. Scott was enough to deal with, he didn’t want to think of himself in that situation. God, can you imagine? That was a whole other can of worms Stiles was happy to leave closed.

Feeling light-headed and nauseous, Stiles turned to look at the time. His clock read seven o'clock in bright red numbers. He’d slept a whole whopping forty minutes. He shouldn’t have even bothered with the nap. 

Huffing in frustration, Stiles shuffled over to his dresser and got dressed in whatever he grabbed first, too tired to spend time picking something out. Nearly braining himself on his desk, he grabbed his backpack and shoveled the half-finished homework he never completed inside, and zipped it closed.

His room was a goddamn mess, and he felt absolutely miserable. It was so not helping his mood. His stomach growled angrily, he was apparently really hungry too.

Stiles staggered down the hallway slamming his door closed and almost falling down the stairs in the process. He really wished his feet would work for once, everyone else's did. When he got to the kitchen, he smacked into the wall with a curse, trying to escape before his dad saw him.

“Good morning again, Stiles.” Mother loving piece of-

“Good morning, father o’ mine.” His dad was still in his Pajamas, surrounded by paperwork like always. Case files, reports, and evidence surrounded him in piles. He had a mug of black coffee delicately placed on the side of the table filled to the brim. His eyes had bags under them.

“Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

“Weren't you supposed to be home last night?” touche. Stiles doesn't reply, instead scrambling to make a cup of coffee for himself before he was forced to go to school.

In a whirlwind, Stiles assembled himself a breakfast fit for a king. He attempted to sit down at the table but bumped into it instead shaking his dad's mug, spilling coffee all over everything, and nearly giving his dad an ulcer in the process. Noah quickly gathers his files, looking up at Stiles in resigned amusement. He raised an eyebrow.

“Stiles?”

“Mhm”

“Do I need to limit your coffee intake again?” Stiles choked on his oatmeal and looked up scandalized. Coffee was the only thing in this cruel world worth getting up for, If his father wanted to have any chance of getting him up in the morning, he’d take that threat back immediately.

“No!?”

“Then can I ask why you can’t stay still, or are you not going to tell me that either?” Ouch, definitely still mad about last night then. Stiles took a breath, putting down his spoon and pulling up his sleeves to clean up the spill he caused.

“I’m never still.” Stiles replied simply.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice your jeep in that driveway, I thought you lost your keys.” he probed further, sending a distrustful look at Stiles.

“My meds need to be refilled.” Stiles tried again.

“And?” His dad Wheedled.

“...I’m sorry.”

His dad sighed after a minute, “I know, I just-” He stopped suddenly, glancing at the hand Stiles was using to clean the table with. The bruise, a dark purple-green color, stood out stunningly from the pale skin of Stiles’s wrist. Fantastic, the injury looked worse in the light of the kitchen than it did in Stiles ugly ass room.

Both went silent as Stiles took his sleeves and pulled them back down, he was done cleaning up the spill from the table anyway. What was he saying about his great luck again? He put the wrag into the sink and sat down at the table, finally eating his oatmeal.

“Stiles.” his dad's tone was heavy, “Please tell me that the bruise is from you falling somewhere.” Stiles' voice was caught in his throat. 

Thankfully, before he could answer, his best friend crashed through the back door in a hurry.

“Hey Mr. Stilinski, time for school, I’m just gonna…” Scott grabbed on to Stiles, yanking him up by his shirt “Bye.” 

“Don’t forget to eat healthily.” Stiles managed to stutter out, catching the backpack Scott threw to him. He was practically dragged out of his house, his feet stumbled down the driveway as Scott yanked his arm out of its socket. He imagined it would’ve been funny if it were anyone else other than him.

They both scrambled into the jeep. Stiles yanked his keys out of his pocket and jammed them into the ignition. The car started with a roar and they were off. Scott rubbed the back of his neck, his posture straight. 

"That was really close, Stiles, I don’t think I've ever heard him act like that."

"That's because you always run away before you can asshole, thanks for last night." Scott winced looking at Stiles sheepishly. 

"Sorry man,” he paused, ”I heard him talking from down the road and ran as fast as I could." Even though Scott was there this time, Stiles knew that wouldn't be the last of that terrible conversation, and Stiles wasn't too sure he liked the idea of people listening into his dad and his conversations.

“What set him off this time?” Scott pried, Stiles debated showing him how bad the bruise was but decided against it. Scott didn’t really need to worry about it, Stiles’s fingers started drumming on the steering wheel.

“Nothing, just sneaking out,” Stiles finally replied ”He grounded me, dude, I’m gonna be babysat at the station all week after school.” Scott’s eyebrows scrunched together in surprise.

“He hasn't done that in a couple of years, when that's the last time you visited the police station?” 

Stiles couldn't remember. He used to go all the time when his mom was still alive, but other than a few petty crimes he was brought in for he stopped visiting when she died.  
“A couple of years now.” He thought about it. “The last time I went inside it was to steal evidence, I don’t think anyone recognized me so...” Stiles left it at that. Scott looked at him curiously.

“What evidence?” He asked, Stiles cackled. What happened in the police station, stayed in the police station.

“Wouldn't you like to know Scotty boy? I can’t share every dirty crime I commit now can I?” Scott rolled his eyes, but he perked back up when they turned into the school’s parking lot.

Stiles navigated his way through the wandering students and pulled into his parking spot on the side of the school.

“What time is it?” Stiles turned his car off and started to get his stuff ready. Scott pulled out his phone.

“Seven-forty.” he replied. “We’ve got twenty minutes.” Stiles groaned. Well, that sucked. An important thought suddenly popped into Stiles' head. They wouldn’t dare…

He wandered around to his trunk, opening it and throwing his lacrosse gear onto the ground. Scott tilted his head confused.

“What are you doing dude?”

“Making sure Derek or his tools didn’t do anything to my car,” Stiles muttered back, his eyes narrowed. Nobody messed with Roscoe, he would so sell out their asses to his dad if they did. Taking it for a few days is one thing, bugging it is another. Bugging cars was his thing.

He ran his hand down the seams looking for any unnatural lumps or injuries to his poor baby girl.

He was still the Sheriff’s son and old habits died hard, this was his mom's car after all. After finishing with the back, he went to the front and made sure they didn’t do anything to his jeeps engine either.

Luckily it only looked like they grinded her gears a little bit, which was normal for anyone who didn’t have experience driving his baby or a stick shift beforehand. Scott peeked around the corner and paled at Roscoe’s duck-taped innards. 

“That can’t be safe, Stiles. I don’t think you’d be able to tell if they did anything.” Stiles would definitely be able to tell. He did need to fix his poor car though. He just couldn’t focus long enough to do it.

He had the mental image of his baby breaking down during a police chase. He’d go out with a bang that was for sure.

Ignoring Scott, he closed the hood.

“Time?”

“Ten more minutes.” Stiles groaned even louder, stomping over to his backpack and flinging himself into his seat. 

He took out the papers he shoved into his bag that morning and started organizing them. He’d finish the assignment at lunch if the mood struck him. His leg bounced until Scott got fed up and put a hand out to stop it. 

Stiles looked up from his work and narrowed his eyes. Stiles jittered because it was almost painful to sit still with his ADHD. Scott knew better than to stop him from jittering. They both knew enough about each other's health issues enough to know what not to do. There was a time when they were younger and Stiles had decked him for it. He felt suspicion swell in his gut.

“You alright man?”

Scott pointedly avoided his eyes, “I'm fine man, just stressed.”

Scott was hunched up and definitely not fine. Stiles had a good guess why. Now to test that theory.

Stiles took an empty foam cup out of his middle cup holder and threw it at him. Scott had the decency to look surprised when it bounced off his head.

Instead of retaliating like he normally would’ve, he snarled, his eyes changing momentarily. Stiles felt a flash of panic before squashing it down. He really hated how his brain worked, it never thought ideas through all the way.

Scott seemed to come back to himself after an intense couple of seconds growling. He looked up irritated. Stiles was giving him what he hoped to be a very observant look, but his back being pressed against the car door probably gave him away.

“You're an idiot sometimes, Stiles, you know that.” Not true, he preferred to be called a very impulsive genius.

“Bad morning?” Scott groaned looking away, he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” That stung. Stiles hid it well though. The feeling of petty betrayal welled up, but Stiles pushed it straight back to hell where it belonged. It could go say hi to aunty Betty for all he cared. Scott was just having a hard time, he really didn’t mean it.

“Fine, You know I can tell though.” Stiles grouched back. If he wanted to fix his issues by himself, so be it. But if he started growling every time Stiles did something stupid he was sticking him in a damn lacrosse goal again. Stiles was so down for round two of stealing coaches' phone.

Huffing Stiles got his bag and left the jeep, closing the door noisily just for the satisfaction of watching Scott flinch in pain. Fine his ass. He started walking towards the school, ignoring Scott's uncertain expression.

Scott eventually caught up, and they walked into the building together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun. Tension, we love it.


	4. Bad Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has bad luck and things get complicated.

School was really grating on Stiles' nerves today. His wrist was a steady ache so far and he could barely stay still thanks to his medication needing to be refilled. He felt like he could barely focus on anything, and everything caused a distraction.

That bird. Distraction. That pencil on the floor. Distraction. In fact, pencils were invented in 1795 by Nicholas-Jacques Conte. Whatever, distraction. He wanted to take that pencil and shove it up the English teacher's nose, so she stopped talking about Metamorphosis by Kafka, which hit way too close to home.

Stiles went from being hyper-focused in chemistry to overwhelmed and jittery in English driving Scott absolutely nuts if the small growls let out were any indication. 

Thankfully the teacher was used to his issues and just left him alone. She continued reading that cursed story instead of paying him any attention. Stiles would get the work done eventually.

Scott was acting extra peeved all day thanks to whatever the hell it was that was bothering him.

Jackson kept whispering things and looking straight at them which probably wasn't helping. And whenever Allison saw them she would flee, avoiding them completely. Stiles just hoped her phsyco family wasn’t planning to shoot them anytime soon.

Stiles caught sight of Scotts claws at least three times before he got fed up and kicked Scott in the shins. 

By the time lunch came around, Stiles felt like someone had taken one of those electric fly swatters and beat him with it. To top it all off, whenever they passed one of Derek's betas in the hall. Scott acted like Stiles was a damn shield.

Scott clung to him like a lifeline. The other betas would just smirk in their awesome leather jackets, letting their eyes change to gold for a split-second, and then sashay away like they were proving something.

Puppies.

Stiles leaned against his locker during passing time and rubbed his temples. He wasn't hungry, but he couldn't focus, and eating sometimes helped. Scott leaned on the side of him looking worried.

“You okay man?” Stiles was going to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“You know what Scott, I’m not having this conversation with you.” If Scott was going to be petty today, then Stiles was going to be petty too. Scott winced reaching into his bag and pulling out the extra dose of Adderall Stiles had given him.

When they were younger, Scott had the nerve to complain that Stiles got to keep his extra inhaler. So Stiles gave him some of his medication to hold. Stiles honestly had thought he’d forgotten about it with all the craziness now.

It was nice that Scott actually remembered, though. He handed the small bottle to Stiles with a knowing expression. Unfortunately, Scott failed to think about how that looked to rude outsiders in the hall.

“Drug dealing now Stilinski, I never would have guessed.” Jackson sneered, strutting by.

That seemed to be the breaking point for Scott. Before he could lunge and break Jackson's face, although that would’ve been amazing, Stiles grabbed Scott by the back of the neck stopping him completely and yanking him back.

Scott stormed off towards the cafeteria leaving Stiles in the hall questioning what the hell just happened. Stiles took his medication before following Scott to the cafeteria at a much slower pace.

Stiles ambled over to a table near the windows and sat down. Still feeling restless, but able to focus now because of his medication. He dug into his lunch pulling out his homework to finally finish it.

Lazily, Scott sat down next to him and melted into his seat. He looked out the window with a frown.

Stiles looked up, “You alright Scotty, you looked like you were gonna take a chunk out of jackass for a moment there.”

Scott mutters something Stiles can’t hear.

“What?”

“I said, are you going to eat that?” Stiles rolls his eyes so hard he feels them disappear into his head. That was not what Scott had muttered.

“Yes, Scott, I'm going to eat my lunch, anything else?” Stiles finally replies, lifting his eyebrows. When Scott didn't answer, he felt a pang in his heart.

"I wish you'd tell me more, it's obvious you and Derek are fighting about something.” He looked back down at his paper ignoring Scott's kicked puppy expression.

Letting out a curse he continued writing until he couldn’t stand it anymore, his wrist started throbbing like a Mother fucker. Scott's nose crinkled, he looked up confused.

“You smell like you're in pain, do you still have a headache?” he looks thoughtful for a minute before flinching suddenly, developing a look on his face that Stiles doesn't like one bit. 

“Stiles show me your wrist.”

“No.” 

When Stiles didn’t budge, Scott grabbed his arm and wrenched his sleeve up, ignoring his best friend's indigent cry. Scott looked horrified.

“Jesus Christ, dude, what the fuck.” His eyes light up alarmed, “It looks like someone tried to break your wrist.”

Stiles could tell Scott was exaggerating. The bruise, although a nasty color, was perfectly in the shape of Derek's stupid jaw, not a hand.

Wolves could bite with over 1,500 pounds of pressure per square inch. So it was no surprise to Stiles that his wrist might actually be broken. It certainly felt like it, but that wasn’t the main problem here.

“Shut up, Scott, we're in the cafeteria”, Stiles chose to hiss out instead, Scott didn't seem to care and kept chewing him out.

“You wish I’d tell you more?!? You don’t tell me anything either!”

It wasn't until he caught sight of Allison who was standing across from them that he stopped completely. 

Allison noticed the mark on Stiles' wrist first. She went pale, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

Before either teen could say something like ‘hey it's not what it looks like she left the cafeteria rushing by Jackson. Jackson's eyes followed her out the door, he sent a sneering smile towards Scott.

He glanced towards Stiles and followed Allison’s lead, paling once he saw Stiles's wrist. His features twisted into seething anger before he also slammed out of the cafeteria.

Deciding that that was enough people getting the wrong idea about him Stiles riped his hand out of Scott’s lax grip. His wrist protested the movement and he had to suppress a hiss. Scott looked up shame-faced.

"Stiles I'm-"

"I know." he took a deep breath "Not your fault, I should have said something"

They didn't talk for the rest of the day.


	5. Tension Between Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles reviews his problems with Scott and where things went wrong. Police time.

Scott’s steady silence throughout the rest of the day was more unsettling than Jackson and Allison’s sudden departure out of the cafeteria. Stiles couldn’t remember a time when their friendship was this strained, not even when Scott had kissed Lydia.

It might’ve started before Scott had been bitten. When he first started craving something more than the sidelines, more than Stiles, but the sidelines were the only thing Stiles could offer Scott from his poor placement in the hierarchy of high school.

It could’ve started after Scott was bitten by Peter. How Scott was given the ability to get everything he’d wanted in life. This was probably the most confusing thing to Stiles. Why would Scott hate the gift that helped him achieve what he wanted?

Don’t get Stiles wrong, he knew it sucked.

Scott was constantly bitching about hunters, control, full moons, and everything that came with his furry package. Stiles knew by now that it sucked more than all the comics in the world let on.

Yet, Derek seemed to think it was the best thing since sliced cheese.

Stiles really couldn’t understand what was wrong with the wolves of Beacon Hills. This couldn’t be how things worked, could it?

Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Ever.

When Stiles’s wrist was in the alpha’s mouth on the lacrosse field. Peter’s pointy teeth just scraped Stiles’s pale skin. All he was thinking about was his mom.

He remembered his mother dying in a bed that wasn’t hers.

He always wondered if her death was his fault. He never stayed still, always moving, always talking. Doing impulsive things before his brain could figure out if he should or not. Maybe he did kill her. Some days he felt like he was slowly killing himself.

What would Stiles be like without his ADHD?

Stiles wanted to know. God, he wanted to know so bad.

What was this person like, without the need to move every second of every day? Without the helplessness that made him want to cry because he couldn’t focus enough to write his name down correctly.

Without the people around him judging him because he could barely walk without getting distracted and tripping. His brain was a radio constantly changing songs.

Stiles had said no to Peter. He’d lied. He didn’t want popularity or to “get the girl” as Peter had suggested.

After Peter had left, Stiles stood on the field unmoving. His head was surprisingly clear for once, his thoughts organized.

Stiles thought of his dad, who needed his son to be there when the love of his life had died.

Stiles thought of Scott, who wasn’t even human anymore. Who didn’t know how to act or what to do with the changes he was being forced through.

He thought of Melissa, who filled the role of Mom when Claudia no longer could.

He'd made the right choice.

Peter was offering popularity, petty revenge. Stiles didn't want that. He didn’t want the bite from Peter. He didn’t want to be special like Scott. He didn’t want it. Even if he really, really kinda did.

High school was hard, being a werewolf seemed so much harder. Stiles would be okay as a malfunctioning human. It was all he'd ever known anyway.

Stiles was good at ignoring his problems. He could ignore this one for a little while longer. Or preferably until he was dead. Definitely dead.

When Stiles finally dropped Scott off at Deaton's after school, he counted to ten and took a deep breath, pushing down any lingering feelings from that exhausting morning in school. Scott got out of the car solemnly, still pouting.

“Good luck with the cats Scott.” 

Scott looked back over his shoulder and let out a grin that looked more like a wince, relaxing a bit.

“Thanks, man.” his face twisted with worry, “You aren't going to show your wrist to your dad if he asks, right?”

“No, Scott”

Looking relieved he took his bag and disappeared into the clinic. Stiles stayed outside in the car for a few more minutes, his head pounding.

Stiles could vaguely see Halloween decorations across the road from the veterinary clinic. The air was increasingly chilly as of late and smelled of moist dying leaves. He remembered autumn had been his mom's favorite season.

With that depressing thought, Stiles put the jeep into drive and pulled out, starting his journey towards the police station. If he was late, his dad might ground him for more than a week.

The trees along the road were a mix of beautiful golds and reds. Soon houses were visible from the road. Stiles waved to the few people raking that recognized him. It came as a surprise to most people that Stiles knew so many folks around town, But the sheriff made connections with a lot of people and Stiles was no different.

Stiles went to town meetings with his dad, and he was still forced to volunteer every now and then. He didn't have a problem with it. If anything, it helped when he networked for information about the big bads around town.

Reaching the police station, Stiles parked his car around the back where he won't get towed on accident. Anyone stupid enough to snitch on the powder blue jeep in the deputy's private parking would get meter duty for a month from his dad. 

The pavement outside was covered in a mixture of squad cars and civilians mulling around. The police station was a small building on the outside, but once you got inside, it was pretty large.

Stiles got out of his jeep putting on his spare jacket for the cold. He grabbed his backpack, looked around, and ambled towards the entrance. He spotted some of the squad cars he'd bugged at one point. His dad still didn't know about those.

Stiles did a cool spin before pushing open the double doors because he was extra like that.  
The double doors made a sharp squeak in warning but didn’t break which was reassuring.

And thus began his first long-term visit in four years.


	6. Police Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends his first day of being grounded at the station. Derek plots and needs therapy.

Stiles recognized Tara Graeme immediately.

She’d babysat him when he was little and helped him with his math homework. She still looked good in her late thirties. She was in uniform sitting at the front desk, most likely filling in for the desk clerk that was out sick. 

She had a look on her face that told Stiles she thought she was dealing with a troublemaker. His theatrics at the door were most likely to blame for that. His sweatpants and beat-up backpack certainly didn’t do him any favors. Maybe he should grow out his hair more?

Might as well go along with it.

He waited until she took a drink of her coffee before swaggering up to her. He leaned across the desk and when she lifted her eyebrow he whispered to her.

“I’m here for the meth.”

She choked on her drink gagging, her eyes started watering and Stiles cackled with barely concealed glee. Ignoring her choking he continued on a roll.

“I’m here to do my time with the big man, you know what I mean Aunty Tara, don’t you?” He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows and Tara’s eyes widened comically.

“Stiles?!?” She whispered, her jaw-dropping in shock.

“The one and only Aunty dearest,” Stiles replied, kind of offended she didn’t recognize him at first.

She got up staggering from her seat and went around the desk to squeeze the life out of him. She smelled like coffee and perfume.

“Jesus, you got tall kid.” her voice was muffled in his shoulder, she was a foot shorter than him now “You used to be up to my hip” She unclinged from his chest and took a good look at him, her nose wrinkling.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She looked him up and down in distaste, “You look like a bum.”

Stiles’s hand flew to his chest dramatically. He liked his clothes thank you very much. They allowed him room to move and nobody expected anything fancy from him.

“I’ll have you know these clothes are comfortable.”

“You look like you have eight different layers on Stiles.”

“Only three!” he replied in indignation looking down at himself, he got cold easily that’s it.

Tara was about to answer before she stopped. She looked at him confused before becoming suspicious.

“Stiles Stilinski.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you at the police station?”

It takes a few seconds longer than he’d like to think of an answer to give her without lying.

“Dad grounded me,” Stiles settled with, instantly regretting it when Taras smacked him hard upside the head.

One of the other deputies caught it and strode over to Tara, everyone else glancing over.

“He giving you a problem Tara?” Stiles looked up and couldn't help but laugh at deputy Parrish who was all puffed up and glaring down at him. He was his dad’s best friend, a relatively new deputy to top it off.

Stiles looked at Tara who looked back at Stiles expectantly. An awkward silence settled between them and Stiles can’t believe the ridiculousness of the situation. 

The whole station seemed to go silent for a second as everyone took a good look at him. Nobody had seen him much since his mom had died, but it seemed to do the trick.

“Stiles?!” A voice rang out at the back, finally, someone recognized him. It happened to be the deputy that had caught him when he was out looking for Laura’s body.

“Here for a mugshot kid?” His smirk gave away the fact that it was a joke, but Stiles still felt his stomach flip for a second. His mind flashing through all the laws he’d broken recently. Parrish got a funny look on his face.

“Absolutely, make sure to get my good side this time,” Stiles replied fidgeting, he was getting uncomfortable with being reminding him of how much of a terrible son he was. Parrish seemed to understand, he put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and started leading him towards the back.

“Let’s get you to your dad kid.” Tara gave him a salute as Parrish led Stiles to the back door. There were chairs in front of it and a nameplate that sat on the side of the doorframe, it read Sheriff.

Stiles looked back towards Tara meaning to see if there was any coffee willing to be shared. It must’ve looked like he was trying to make a run for it, because Parrish blocked his view, raising an eyebrow with a vague, amused smile.

Ok, If that wasn’t suspicious...

Stiles felt a new bout of nervousness bubble up. Maybe he should ask to use the bathroom to escape, but he crushed the thought. That would just make him look more guilty than he already was.

So Stiles would do what any good soldier would, he’d march into battle.

Oh god, he was going to die and he’d never had any kids with Lydia.

Parrish opened the door and Stiles shuffled in. His dad was hunched over loads of paperwork and case files piled on the side of his desk.

He looked up at Stiles, but his eyes slid over to Parrish who closed the door and stood in front of it. Stiles felt sufficiently screwed over at this point. The world truly hated his guts.

“This is really creepy, you know that right.” the words slipped out of Stiles’s mouth before he could help it. Both his dad and Parrish smile, but it only set Stiles on edge more.

He could take Parrish if it came down to it, definitely. Probably.

Absolutely not.

“So pops, whatcha need me to do, organize, clean, forge your signature…” Stiles looked down at the pile of paperwork suggestively trying to hide how panicked he was. His dad only raised an eyebrow. That's just great.

“Sit down Stiles.” Ok, no bueno then. Stiles went to sit down on the chair in front of the door. However, seeing the ‘don’t even think about it I’ll ground you until you're dead’ look on his dad's face he swerved, tripping and falling into the chair in front of his dad's desk instead.

Its weird carpetlike texture somehow pissed Stiles off more than Perrish’s laugh at his failure to walk. Stiles looked lovingly at Parish.

“Trade?” he said sickeningly sweet glancing at the plastic chair. The deputy just rolled his eyes.

This day definitely sucked. Who cornered their son at work for god's sake, he could do without the interrogation vibes this whole shebang was letting off.

His dad got out of his seat, opening the draw under his desk, he pulled out a medkit and Stiles tensed. This was going to be painful.

“The least you can do is let me wrap it if you won’t tell me what happened.” he huffed out, placing the kit on the desk and opening it.

Stiles sighed surrendering, scooting his chair closer to the desk where his dad was setting up the kit. He pulled up his sleeve ignoring the noise Parish let out. He took it all back; he had such shitty luck.

This had to be an all-time record for Stiles, he was so going to look into curses as soon as he got home because seriously, this was messed up.

Screw Scott, his dad had already seen the bruise this morning anyways.

His dad scooted his chair closer and gently took Stiles’s wrist looking just as exhausted as he felt. Stiles' heart pinched painfully.

“I’m sorry” Stiles winced out miserably,

His dad slowly started feeling down his wrist and Stiles had to bite his tongue, his dad was just checking for a break. Stiles had to restrain himself from flinching once he reached the bottom of his hand.

“You fractured it, Stiles.” His face was blank as he reached over and grabbed the medical tape on the desk. He pointed to a spot on the side of his wrist, “right here.”

He started wrapping Stiles' wrist in a zigzag pattern Stiles remembered him learning from Melissa back when Stiles had broken his other wrist in first grade.

His eyes tracing over the shape of the injury.

This was going to be a long-ass week.

\-----------------------

If Derek stretched his senses out far enough he could faintly hear the gurgling of the stream on his property.

He could remember playing in it with Laura, how she would try to splash him and he would snarl at her in warning. They would both come home soaked.

That's what made Beacon Hills such a terrible place now. He could remember his family in everything he saw, everything he heard. From the corner of Main street to the bakery where he would catch Peter sneaking off to.

Derek remembered his home. The forest was always loud with birds and the deer would tempt him to hunt. In the dump he was staying in now, all he could hear were humans. No family, just a scrap of a pack in a broken territory.

He remembered his mother and how strong she was. Talia Hale, she would know what to do, she always did. Red eyes he grew up to see as something stable and safe, were now a burden.

Red eyes did his mother no good in the end. When her son let a hunter into their den. He couldn't be like her. He had to be stronger, harder. He needed to show no mercy to those who threatened his pack, to those who were in his pack. No weaknesses no more mistakes.

Nobody would end up like him, making his mistakes. He’d make sure of it.

He was still learning how to be an Alpha. Letting humans into the pack had never been a problem with his mom. There were lots of humans in the hale pack, they helped bring balance between the wolf and human parts that made up a werewolf.

Humans in the pack ensured that nobody became too wild. That had been fine, it wasn't anymore. Not in Derek’s pack. It was too dangerous now.

And Scott was really pushing his limits because of it.

Putting the human kid that followed him around in danger. Derek had tried to reason with him. He had. Derek didn’t have a place in his wolf pack for humans, the kid would just get hurt. Scott was stubborn though.

Maybe the problem had been that Derek wasn’t wolf enough with his own family. Too many humans around. He’d been too human when he fell in love with Kate. Hadn’t smelled the signs. Hadn’t listened to his wolf when he could feel his fur bristle when she touched him.

Maybe that was Scott's problem. The human was stopping him, keeping him to human.

Because if Derek knew anything, it was that Scott was definitely not enough wolf.

Derek’s heart had stopped when Stiles' wrist found itself in his mouth. His instincts screamed challenger because he’d been hit while vulnerable, his wolf hadn't liked that, now that he was an alpha.

The more he thought about it the more the vindictive side of Derek took satisfaction in the thought of biting the mouthy human to teach him a lesson. To teach Scott a lesson.

“Look what you did Scott ” the dark side of Derek's mind would say “Now your little human has to suffer too.”

Derek had no doubt the human would suffer because of it. An omega with a purpose to bring Scott to heel, but an omega nonetheless. Derek certainly wouldn't allow him in his pack without asking his betas first.

He needed strong humans, ones who knew suffering and loneliness. Stiles had a loving family, had a best friend, nothing useful to give to Derek other than his loyalty.

If Derek's situation was different, he would have considered it, but it's simply not. Maybe when he was done fixing the territory he would offer help to the kid.

He could feel the guilt eating at his heart but shoved it away ruthlessly. Let the spazzy kid suffer a little, writhing in his fur. It would do him some good. He’d have Scott there with him anyway.

With that thought, Derek pulls out his phone and clicks on three contacts typing out a short message.

“Come to the loft, we need to talk about something.” 

Scott would learn not to get humans involved, and Derek would teach Stiles just what happened to humans who ran with wolves in Beacon Hills now.

They all grew fangs eventually.


	7. Sketching Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends his last day at the Station and gets screwed over by his dad.

Practically choking on the stuffy atmosphere of the file room, Stiles continued his task with the concentration of a brain surgeon. His skillful fingers typed out the report he was being forced to write as the dust in the air swirled around him.

After the first two days of suffering through a half-assed interrogation with his dad and Parrish, they stopped asking him about his wrist and why he’d snuck out. Now they were trying to break his spirit, but he would persist.

He’d been strong so far, and in just an hour Stiles would be a free man. Even Tara and the other cops had noticed something amiss between the Stilinski duo. Stiles was having a hard time getting anything out of them, whether it was extra coffee or station gossip they were all tight-lipped.

Apparently, Stiles had gotten too annoying with his never-ending questions, because they’d banished him into the backroom, the absolute worst goddamn place in the whole building.

It had no air conditioning or windows, instead, it was home to boxes upon boxes of paperwork that needed to be taken care of. When Stiles had first walked in, his jaw had dropped at the sheer volume of paperwork covering the floor. His dad had found it funny, ordering Stiles to file half the mess into the police database.

Stiles would file every last bit of it, just to spite him.

In hindsight, that decision was definitely not worth it. But here he was, with a paper-free room that was once used for mail in the past, judging by the now visible cubbies.

Stiles would be officially ungrounded in an hour, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he finished this last goddamn report.

Stiles dragged his eyes away from the old computer. Reaching to the ceiling and stretching out his body. Pins and needles traveled up his legs making him wiggle uncomfortably. His wrist felt a lot better today. Parish, who Stiles had discovered to be a huge mother hen, had taken to wrapping it when his dad couldn’t.

As opposed to Tara who eyed it before snorting up her coffee. Jokes on her, after a full week at the station he knew all the good blackmail now.

Scott had come to visit Stiles a few times, updating him on the situation with Jackson. Scott had decided to follow the dick around to make sure he didn’t cause shit with Stiles like he did for Scott when he first found out about the werewolf thing. Stiles wasn’t sure if stalking the jerk was necessary, but quite frankly he didn’t care.

It wasn’t as if Jackson could prove to anyone that Stiles grew fur on the full moon, but whatever. 

Stiles sneezed, making more dust swirl around him angrily. The dust bunnies in this place were killing him slowly but surely. He glanced around to take stock of what was left to do. The yellow wallpaper was chipped and peeling in most places, water damage spots were spread across the ceiling, and the mail cubbies were home to generations of dust bunnies. There was no way in hell he was fixing any of that shit before he left.

Looking back at the computer, he only had that one last report to finish, something about a girl who went missing after a car accident a couple years back. He filed that information in his head for later, a nice side project once the town’s werewolf problem got boring.

Getting back to work, he typed out the last few words of the report into his computer. It was safe to say that Stiles was now very knowledgeable on the last eighty years of crime in Beacon Hills, not that he wasn’t before, but his dad didn’t need to know that.

Now what was he supposed to do for a whole hour?

Let’s see what he had here, a notepad, a pencil, an old ass computer, and a dead phone. Lovely, he’d die of boredom before starvation at this rate.

Taking the notepad, Stiles resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to take the first grader’s approach to this. He picked up the pencil and started doodling. It was pretty easy to relax like this. He remembered his mom sitting him down to draw when he became too much to handle.

He hadn’t practiced in a while and it hadn’t exactly been a skill he was good at, but he seemed to get a flow going now that he was older. He started with strokes that made up lines. Then he progressed to shadows until he had something that vaguely resembled a wolf. Creepy, he liked it.

He felt giddy and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. He had the power. The pencil of life. He moved to the side of the paper and started sketching a dog bowl just because he could. He continued like this for a whole goddamn hour. Holy shit, Stiles had just found the secret to his ADHD, his mom was a genius. 

It wasn’t until his dad peeked his head in that he realized he’d been there for longer than he’d needed to be. His dad had a greasy bag of fast food contraband in his hand. A horrified expression crossed his face once his eyes met Stiles. The cheating bastard had the dignity to look guilty.

His dad probably thought that Stiles had left the station as soon as he’d gotten the chance. Giving his dad the perfect window to cheat and buy himself unhealthy shit. Oh no, this wouldn’t stand.

Stiles got up with a flourish, pushing his chair back, he let it roll into the wall.

“You cheating son of a-” He continued forward on a roll, “I TRusTed You.” Noah backed out of Stiles room and into the station, stammering and pale.

“Spinach Stiles, you gave me spinach, you have to understand-” Stiles cut him off.

“Ohh, I understand perfectly well, I bust my ass cooking Healthy lunch for you every day, and you’re not even going to eat it.” He paused taking a deep breath before hollering.

“Tara, you've betrayed me, he’s eating something UnHeaLTHY.” he screeched out the last word making his dad jump, Stiles could hear Tara laughing her ass off in the station with the other deputies. This was betrayal at its finest.

Stiles stuck his hand out palm up and motioned gimmie to his father. His dad tried to argue before giving up and putting the bag into Stiles’s hand. Looking downcast, he walked out of the door and over to the mini-fridge, taking out his spinach and fettuccine lunch, much to the amusement of the whole station.

Stiles slammed the door to the humid mailroom shut. He hobbled over to the chair and rolled it back over to the desk. Plopping himself down, he took the bag of fried food and started rifling through his treasure. Hamburger and curly fries, what a heathen his father was.

He took a bite out of the fries, closing his eyes in bliss and enjoying the flavor of his blessed potato snack. Hearing voices outside the door, he listened in curiously, but it was just the deputies messing with his dad.

His dad seemed to get sick of being made fun of. He yanked open the door to Stiles clean room and invited himself in before realizing there was only one chair. He walked back out with a curse, coming back in with one of the plastic chairs that were in front of his office.

He sat down, scooting Stiles’s computer to the side of the desk and placing his lunch down.

“Come in,” Stiles commented sarcastically. Gaining an annoyed look from the sheriff who took it in stride.

“I did.” he smiled mockingly before glancing around wide-eyed.

“Is this a mailroom,” he questioned in wonder.

“Yep.” Stiles popped the P, grabbing another handful of fries and shoving them in his mouth, much to the disgust of his dad. He looked at Stiles horrified.

“I thought I only told you to do half of it?” he gestured to the empty file boxes, raising an eyebrow. Stiles looked him straight in the eye challengingly.

“I did all of it.” Instead of the irritated response Stiles was expecting, his dad just smiled happily, if not a bit exasperated.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Stiles supposed that response was alright too.

“Your welcome.” They both ate in silence for a little while before Stiles finished. He tossed the empty bag into the small trash bin on the other side of the room. His dad looked amused when it made it in.

“You’re getting good with your aim, any better at lacrosse yet?” Stiles snorted. That’s hilarious. His aim had nothing to do with the fact that Stiles had the grace of a baby deer holding a stick on the field.

“Nope, Can’t run for shit without getting distracted.”

“Language.” He hesitated, “Maybe I should tell the doctor to increase your dosag-”

“Don’t.” Stiles cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. His dad went silent getting the message, huffing after a minute of awkward silence.

“How am I supposed to keep an eye on you, now that your sentence has ended.” Stiles’s head jerked up in surprise. So his dad was using this whole station grounding thing because of suspicion. Stiles got ready to retort before noticing his dad staring at the wolf he’d drawn. Before stiles could translate the look in his dad's eyes, it was gone, he looked up with a small wistful smile.

“You’ve gotten a hell of a lot better than you used to be Stiles, though the stick figures you used to draw weren’t too bad either I suppose.” his eyes crinkled, “Can I keep this?” 

At Stiles’s nod, he picked up the paper and studied it. Just like he did with mom’s old photo album, ripping the page out, folding it, and putting it in his pocket. He looked back up at Stiles intrigued,

“Stiles, can you draw me please?” Stiles felt confusion flow through him. If that was the sorta thing his dad liked, he wasn’t too sure he wanted to encourage it. His dad must have caught the look Stiles was giving him because he rubbed his face in frustration.

“Your mind really is a scary place Stiles,” He looked up pleadingly, ” Humor me.” Stiles took the notepad back from his dad and picked up the pencil, eyeing his father’s face before he started sketching.

His dad had gotten older from the last time Stiles had really looked at him. He had wrinkles here and there, but nothing too drastic. He definitely had gray hairs, but Stiles couldn’t really color anything in right now so it wouldn’t be noticeable in the picture.

Stiles definitely shared his face structure with his dad. If the pictures he’d seen of when the sheriff was younger were anything to go by. They once had the same build too, but his dad was filled out now. Something Stiles desperately hoped would happen to him when he got older.

It took another thirty minutes before Stiles finished. The duration of which a few deputies had come in curiously to find their sheriff. His dad had just waved them off, telling them something Stiles didn’t pick up on. He was far too focused on his masterpiece. Parrish even brought his dad a packet of some kind, Stiles figured it was just so he didn’t get bored.

Once finished, Stiles ripped the picture out of his notepad and turned it around with a grin, showing his dad who smirked mischievously in return.

“Very good Stiles, you start tomorrow.” Stiles choked on his spit.

“What!?!” His father smiled savagely, turning around his own packet to reveal the bright red words APPLICATION OF EMPLOYMENT With Stiles's information filled out neatly along the boxes.

“Turns out we needed a sketch artist kiddo, how funny is that.” he looks down at Stiles mockingly, “Looks like I’ll be keeping an eye on you after all.”

“Tha- That’s Illegal!!!” His father just shrugged in return as if saying ‘is it?’

“So’s going out past police curfew.” He smirked, getting up out of his chair and practically prancing out the door. Stiles was left to pick up his jaw from the floor, questioning how this was his life.


	8. Betas Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ericas POV, the final verdict.

This had to be the most boring little nerd Erica had ever laid her eyes on. When Derek had told the pack he was going to bite Stilinski, she hadn’t known what to expect. 

So she’d gotten off her ass and picked a nice vantage point to spy on him.

Once upon a time, she’d liked him sure. He’d been her own little hero who’d saved her from the evil little bullies at the time before she became a badass bitch. Now she was doing her own saving.

What the hell had she seen in the dude anyway? Kindness was universal, plenty of kids stopped bullies, he was no different. 

He wasn’t even that attractive. Practically swimming in whatever the hell he was wearing, he looked like he had eight layers of sweatpants and T-shirts on.

Erica had nothing against him personally, but what the hell was Derek thinking. She knew Stiles knew about werewolves, he had Scott, who had him in return.

The number of times she’d wished she had a relationship like that with someone before she’d been bitten. She’d lost count

It never ended up happening anyway.

But Derek wanted to bite him. Alright then it would happen, Erica didn’t exactly have a say in the things Derek did or didn’t do, none of the others did either. So Stiles would be bitten. That was that.

What concerned Erica was that Derek had asked them if they wanted him in the pack. 

None of them had answered at the time. None of them knew Stilinski well enough to answer.  
After the pack meeting, they’d all compiled a list and it came down to just five things they knew.

He played lacrosse, he was smart, he didn’t like bullies, he was besties with Scott, and daddy is the sheriff.

So they’d decided after that bust to follow him around for a week. Issac was first, then Boyd, and now Erica. All they discovered was one thing.

The dude didn’t do anything.

All fucking week. School. Sheriffs station. School. Sheriffs station. Every now and then Scott would appear and prance into the station, and he’d come out an hour later.

Nothing. else. Happened.

Stiles didn’t have a life.

It was almost painful to sit around all day and watch. If Erica didn’t hear the trouble he got into from time to time from the town’s gossip, she’d think he was a nark sent snitch on the druggies.

She wanted to think that he’d be a good pack member, she did, she had nothing against him. 

But he simply wasn’t like them.

He went to school to see his best friend. He had the energy to spare always tripping over his own feet to get places. He went to the Sheriff’s station to a family that loved him. And he repeated the process every damn day.

Everything was perfect and peachy in Stiles land.

He had no illness, he wasn’t lonely or abused. He wasn’t like them.

Derek would turn him, but Erica knew that he couldn’t be pack. He was too good, not broken enough. He wouldn’t survive with them.

She sent out the last text to the packs chat. Letting Derek know that they were all set. 

A decision was made.

Stiles had failed his test, it wouldn’t be long now before Derek made his move towards Scott, and Stiles would be bitten.

But unlike them, he wouldn’t get a choice in the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you were sent notifications. I did some major editing. Nothing new until Tuesday 3/16/21 though.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the tease, but Stiles will be turned eventually. I plan to update once a week maybe more some weeks but with School, it might be hard. We will see. I'll edit constantly to try to keep the fic user friendly and easy to read. I use complicated sentences a lot that make things confusing, I'll try to fix that as I go.


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